


All that's old is new again

by Footloose



Series: Muggle Magic [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Care of Magical Creatures, Case Fic, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 07:56:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12361113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Footloose/pseuds/Footloose
Summary: Muggle science has evolved to the point that they may as well have discovered their own kind of magic, and it's an ongoing, losing battle for Theseus Scamander, Head Auror of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.  He's not embarrassed to admit that he's out of his depths when extinct magical creatures are being created in Muggle laboratories.Time to call in Newt.





	All that's old is new again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Limoncello_Bella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limoncello_Bella/gifts).



> This is a continuance of the first story in the series, but could probably be read on its own.

"One of them better ask me to be their best man, that's all I'm saying," Theseus said, to no one in particular. And that was a good thing, because it wouldn't do for his Aurors to see him talking to himself, again. 

Theseus waved a hand to clean the Floo powder from his private network connection. The powder mixture to achieve international Floo connections always made much a mess.

"Right. Don't talk to yourself out loud, Theseus," he muttered, rubbing his face. "It doesn't look good."

There were already enough rumours floating around as it was, and discovering that the Head Auror was in fact a closet matchmaker who played the long game with his own brother and best mate was not something he wanted anyone to know. He wanted to be an uncle, damn it all, and if he had to be clever about it, well, that was no one's business but his own.

He cast another _Tempus_ and only felt the weight of enormous exhaustion. Promising himself a vacation, soon, Theseus collected the scraps of parchment, tapped them together into a neat, orderly pile, and went to see the Minister.

* * *

Several months later, on a rare weekend with no pressing cases to close, there were no irritating Ministry parties to attend, and no bad guys to chase. Maybe it was a national criminal holiday. Theseus should find out who was in charge of organizing the underground calendar. They could coordinate. Merlin knew that his Aurors could use some downtime.

Theseus was sprawled across his living room sofa, a Muggle beer in hand to go with the Muggle prawn crisps he'd picked up earlier that day, the orange Kneazle that was his current owner, Manfred, staring down at him from his perch on the Louis XIV chair that Malfoy had insisted on giving him in "an attempt, however misguided, to improve your living conditions, which I'm certain are appalling."

Potter had elbowed Malfoy, Malfoy had remained unrepentant, and Theseus had taken it as graciously as Pureblood manners allowed before replacing the Cat TreeTM he'd gotten for Manfred from the pet store in London with the regal, expensive chair. Manfred had approved of the change. Malfoy had not. Potter had bitten his lip and tried not to laugh. Theseus had gotten so much enjoyment out of the encounter, and had promptly sworn not to celebrate another closed case with his Aurors at his home for a while.

The Ireland versus Belarus game was playing on the tele-vee. The wizarding world's answer to Muggle television didn't have the best colour corrections -- it was last year's model -- and Theseus wouldn't be able to see the Snitch even if he zoomed in to the highest setting and slowed down the playing speed to a near standstill. He'd heard -- from Malfoy, of all people, that the latest models were less of a big awkward boes taking up half the rooms and more portrait-sized and wall-hanging, but he hadn't had much free time for a bit of shopping and upgrade.

Belarus was winning. Theseus supposed he should be cheering on Ireland out of national solidarity, but he hadn't followed Quiddich in years and had no idea who he should be cheering on.

To be honest, he wasn't sure he really cared. He had his beer, he had his crisps, Newt wasn't around to nag him about eating healthier, and he didn't have to worry about anything work-related until Tuesday.

Seeker MacMillan from Ireland was in the process of chasing the Snitch, Krum from Belarus on his broomstick bristles, Theseus was on his second beer, and Manfred was licking the salt from the bottom of his discarded bowl. It was peace and perfection --

And the Floo flared red and white in the emergency signal, breaking through the privacy lock.

So much for his day off.

Theseus didn't move from the sofa. He'd learned this little trick from Newt's Niffler, Frank. If he didn't move, then he wasn't there.

Then Weasley's head popped through the flames in full redheaded MagicolorTM, looked around, and said, "Sir, there's --"

"An emergency, yeah, I noticed," Theseus muttered, his head sinking back against the sofa in defeat. He stared at the bottle of Muggle beer in his hand and sighed. He supposed it was a relief that Muggle beer didn't have as much of an effect on magic users as magically-brewed drinks did, because he had a feeling he was going to need to be sober for this one.

"Sir?"

"I'll be at the office in five minutes."

"All right, I'll let Harry know," Weasley said. He started to sink back into the fireplace, only to come back later. "Sorry, sir. I forgot. We're not at the office."

"Lovely," Theseus said cheerily, finishing off his beer. He stood up quickly, all thoughts of a day off put aside in exchange for something more exciting than a Quiddich match where no one seemed to be winning. "I've missed fieldwork."

* * *

Theseus did not miss fieldwork.

He'd heard all about Percival having to pull out his bags of tricks to hide the fact that there was a herd of Hipogriffs running through the middle of the city's downtown area. Which happened to be filled with Muggles, at the time. And how MACUSA's President had caused an otherwise friendly, if a bit snobby, herd of Hipogriffs to stampede.

He'd never gotten the details of _how_ , exactly, the stampede had began, but since his mother bred Hipogriffs, he knew there was only one way: abject rudeness, combined with blatant disregard for herd hierarchy. Quahog must have grabbed the lead pair's foal in a misguided attempt to lead them all away for it to have gotten as bad as it had.

Theseus would _kill_ to have a rampaging herd of Hipogriffs to deal with, right now. He was woefully underprepared for this mess.

"What the fuck," he said, for the fourth time, because there was no language in Pureblood vocabulary that was strong enough to quantify the level of bizarre.

"I concur," Malfoy said, coming up to stand next to Theseus. 

"Well, if you concur," Theseus blustered, and stopped himself. He rubbed his face with his hands. 

Theseus idly thought about suggesting that they get a hold of Granger, because if Malfoy didn't know something, maybe Granger did. The mere suggestion would cause another rift between the Aurors and the Department of Mysteries, but Theseus was about seventy percent certain that Potter would bring his spouse around. Then, he thought, _Fuck it_. This qualified as an all-hands-on-deck situation.

"We should ask Hermione," Potter said, beating him to it.

Malfoy was one of those Pureblood types who never permitted any kind of weakness to show. At any given time, there was a running betting pool to determine who could make Malfoy lose composure on a particular day. Most people lost their bets and the pool only grew larger and larger as more and more Aurors put in a few Galleons on themselves and gave it their best go.

Theseus never bet on himself -- he never bet on anyone, full stop -- because he was Head Auror, and shouldn't be either condoning such practices or participating in them.

Also, he had the unfair advantage of knowing exactly what could wind Malfoy up and make him explode. It was twice as effective when Potter was the one to do it.

Malfoy's expression of aristocratic outrage was a work of art, but the gilded edges of betrayal were so beautiful that they warmed the cockles of Theseus' cold, black heart. He didn't hide his grin. He was disappointed when, a moment later, Malfoy's mouth snapped shut, and with cold, crisp grace, said, "That might be best. She might have picked up a thing or two about Magical Creatures while faffing about with House Elf rights."

Theseus blinked, because that was practically _complimentary_ , coming from Malfoy. Potter sighed in exasperation, and Theseus understood why a second later.

"At which point I'll be able to correct her misconceptions," Malfoy said, the almost-cackle of glee in his voice. If there was something that Malfoy enjoyed the most, it was proving himself the smartest man in the room. It wasn't hard to do with regular people, but Granger gave him something of a challenge.

"I'll see if I can get Mum to babysit Rose and Hugo before I firecall Hermione," Weasley said, apparently unbothered by Malfoy's declaration. Theseus supposed that the Golden Trio had gotten used to being a Golden Quattro when Malfoy bullied his way into their group during the war. Rumour had it that the Malfoys had completely turned against Voldemort in the early days, but Theseus was one of the few who knew all the details of how and why.

That highly confidential information was something that he'd take to his grave, if it meant protecting the prickly, acerbic, arrogant, absolutely brilliant arsehole who came as an obligatory plus-one to the Saviour of the Wizarding World. From the way Weasley and Granger tolerated Malfoy's antics, they knew what had happened to him, and very much felt the same way.

It wasn't long before Granger arrived, _Apparat_ ing in a swirl of hastily put-on robes and mass of unbound, curly hair that was all the more wild for having been woken up, probably from a midday nap while her ankle-biter spawn were quiet. It meant she was in the perfect mood to deal with the current set of uncontrollable ankle biters.

Except: 

"What the fuck?"

"Okay, all right. We're clearly out of our depths and too stupid to admit it," Theseus said, after he'd rubbed his face in frustration a few more times. He walked away from the crime scene, more than happy to let his Aurors deal with corralling all the creatures and getting them to a safe space. "I'm calling my brother."

* * *

Theseus knew that he could count on Percival to arrange for an international portkey for Newt, given the urgency of the situation. What he hadn't expected was for Percival Graves, Director of MACUSA, to have accompanied Newt across the pond.

Not that he'd complain. If it came down to it, Theseus could leave Newt in Percival's capable hands when Newt was his usual, too-focused, lacking-self-preservation-in-the-face-of-extreme-danger self. That didn't stop him from blankly blinking at the two people who had arrived in his office, trying to decide which one to hug first.

When he saw how closely the two of them were standing together, Theseus couldn't stop his great big self-satisfied _My masterplan worked_ grin, and he hugged both.

Halfway through the three-way hug that was probably bordering on uncomfortable and awkward, even between a best mate and a sibling, Newt said, "I told you."

"I didn't think he could possibly be that underhanded," Percival admitted.

"Really? After you confirmed that he has seven different spies in your office?"

"Eight," Theseus said, making a mental note to change the roster in the near future. "Also, what are we talking about, exactly?"

"How you've manipulated us our entire lives with the intent purpose of getting us together," Newt said, letting go and taking a step back. Percival went with him. Neither of them looked particularly unhappy, but Theseus didn't like the judgment written all over their expressions.

"In my defence," he began.

"Here it comes," Newt said. He put down his case and crossed his arms.

"I have no defence," Theseus quickly amended. "Can we get down to business?"

Newt and Percival exchanged a long look that reminded Theseus a lot of the ones that passed between Malfoy and Potter, and between Granger and Weasley. It was what he privately called the _honey-bunny lovey-dovey we better be thinking the same thing right now_ look that perfect couples always mastered. It was also one more piece of evidence that he was justified in his long-term matchmaking enterprise.

However, he didn't become Head Auror by being an idiot, so he kept his mouth shut rather than pointing out the obvious, and waited for his baby brother and his best mate to finish their conversation.

"Yeah, all right," Newt said, with remarkable restraint. Honestly, Theseus was surprised that his little brother hadn't figured out how to _Apparate_ himself across the ocean to attach himself to the front of Theseus' shirt, shrilly whistling, _You found some new creatures?_

"If we must," Percival said, gesturing Newt toward one of the guest chairs in the office. Ever the gentleman, Percival remained standing, but he moved to loom behind Newt with his big, beefy arms.

"Don't you have a job to go to?" Theseus asked, squinting at him.

"I was doing that job when someone decided to rudely interrupt it," Percival said, raising a brow. "And I thought it was time I came to the island. I'm due to save your ass again, aren't I?"

Newt snorted.

Theseus rolled his eyes. He started to retort when Weasley barged into the room. "There's a problem with the -- the… whatever they are --"

Newt was on his feet in an instant. "Show me," he said, barrelling toward the door with such determination that Weasley had no choice but to back out in a hurry, or be steamrolled. 

Weasley cast a frantic, questioning look at Theseus. Theseus sighed heavily, nodded a confirmation, and got up from behind his chair.

"Please don't give him back," Theseus said. He really did believe the two of them together made sense. He'd console Newt if it didn't work out and curse his best friend until the end of time, but he was begging Percival to give the relationship a chance. Theseus could talk Newt into anything. Percival was a tougher nut to crack.

Percival stared at him for a second, and, for a fleeting second, Theseus feared that all his plans had been for naught. But Percival grunted, shook his head, and gestured rudely toward the door. "You can tell me what this is about on the way."

"That, my friend, I can most assuredly do," Theseus said graciously, throwing a hand across Percival's shoulder as they left the office and headed down the hall.

They were at the lifts, neither Weasley nor Newt in sight, before Theseus broke down the situation.

"Remember the Muggle potion drug ring from a few months back?" Theseus didn't wait for Percival to nod. Of course the man remembered these things. His mind was a steel trap with rusty teeth and several layers of old blood on them. "Well, the Minister wanted to see how far it went, so some of our Muggleborn Aurors went undercover and… And, well. How does the saying go? They followed the money?"

Percival nodded. The lift stopped at one of the administrative levels, and a small group about to climb aboard stopped dead in their tracks when they recognized Theseus. Theseus knew that his Business Face could scare off even Margaret Lensdower, who was the most unflappable, humourless witch on the Wizengamot, and he could only imagine how the group felt, having to face down _two_ Business Faces. Percival's was even better than his own.

The doors closed without taking on any new passengers.

"Anyway, they followed the money, right to a warehouse where we found a bunch of… creatures?"

Percival glanced at him. "You don't seem certain."

"Well, no. Because I've never seen their like before. I'm Newt Scamander's brother. I own every edition of his books. I let him name my bloody Kneazle. _And_ , neither Malfoy nor Granger know what they are. It's simple arithmancy, old chap. If they're not Muggle animals, and they're not magical creatures, either…"

"That doesn't sound like _simple_ arithmancy," Percival said, shooting Theseus a dubious look. "Didn't you nearly fail that subject at Hogwarts?"

"You promised you'd never hold my dying-and-delirious confessions against me," Theseus said, leading the way out of the lift when the doors opened. 

"So," Percival said, after a long round of contemplative silence and a blind weave through the darker corridors that would eventually lead to the secure holding area they'd established close to the Department of Mysteries, "Your No-Maj potion makers are also involved in the illegal creatures trade."

"Seems like," Theseus said, slowing down as they approached a reinforced door.

"The question remains, who are they buying from and selling to?"

"Good question. Excellent question. I've got a better one. How are they getting their hands on creatures we've never seen before?" Theseus asked, and pressed his magical signature against the lock, which turned with a click. The door swung open.

They'd managed to corral all the creatures and sequester them in their own little wizarding space, complete with grass-like ground, troughs of fresh water, and the best approximation they could come up for food, which was, admittedly, based on the buckets they'd found in the warehouse where they'd stumbled on the creatures in the first place. Theseus was proud of the ingenuity of his people, because they'd put it all together on short notice.

However, it was clear from the murderous glance Newt shot in his direction that his little brother Did Not Approve.

"Ugh," Theseus said, crossing his arms. Then, because they had a strange brotherly dynamic where he was the overbearing, dour-spirited, overly-protective elder who ensured that his family was properly taken care of, and Newt was the one who could go from bright-spirited to unhappy in 0.2 seconds flat, taking Theseus' heart along for the ride, Theseus turned around and tried to escape.

Of course, Percival anticipated the manoeuvre and blocked the way. Theseus glared at him, but Percival was bigger, and looking past Theseus as if he wasn't there, arms crossed like a bouncer at a Muggle club, just waiting for an excuse.

But Theseus was on to Percival. They hadn't been friends this long without Theseus learning a thing or two about his best mate. The irritation making the corners of his eyes crinkle was being offset by the tiny upturn at the corner of his mouth, which meant that he was fighting very hard not to show how much he enjoyed watching Newt in his natural environment.

At the moment, Newt's natural environment involved the big, oversized, feathered bird with terrible attitude, high-pitched shrieking, and googly-eyeballs, the large tawny-coloured pair of kittens with fangs bigger than their head, a small flock of iridescent green-and-black-and-curved-beaks birds currently flying in a large net charmed with a silencing spell, and a growly triad of oversized canine-seeming triplets about to overcome their shyness in order to eat them all alive.

Theseus didn't immediately understand what had been so urgent that Weasley had to interrupt their conversation. Then, he saw the big cranky bird's broken enclosure, the crushed case where they'd stashed the toothy kittens, and the colourful feathers sticking out of the mouth of one of the terror triplets.

The very same terror triplet that Newt was holding up by the scruff of its neck.

"Out," Newt said sternly. " _Out_. Don't make me stick my fingers in your mouth. You won't like it. I won't like it. The Huia won't like it. Spit it out, and only one of us will be unhappy."

The triplet looked properly chastened, but stubbornly reluctant to release its prize. From inside the fox-like mouth of the striped creature that looked to be a cross between a furless hyena and a large, wet rodent, a feather fluttered, and there was a melodic, if strangled, _Meep_.

"Right, then," Newt said, and determinedly shoved the triplet into Potter's arms. "Hold him still."

Bloody Potter was _delighted_. He started petting the triplet and making cooing noises to calm the creature while Newt pried the little bird out of the cage of sharp, pointy teeth.

"Should you be doing that?" Granger asked, fretting at the torn arm sleeve of her robe.

"Oh, no, not at all," Newt replied absentmindedly, a tiny trace of sarcasm in his tone. Theseus was proud; Newt had clearly worked very hard to minimize the cutting edge. "In the natural order of the world, this cute cub would be learning how to hunt from its mum, and its mum would be telling him, _Quit playing with your food, or you won't have any kangaroo hindquarters for dessert_. Then one of his siblings would steal the bird before he's had himself a good crunch, and our little cub's going to go to his bed hungry and weepy because he has a rumbly stomach. We wouldn't want to punish the poor mite, would we?"

Theseus grinned. Percival snorted -- in amusement, Theseus recognized that sound, even if it was hidden behind his Stern Director Face, and Malfoy, who hadn't been there a second ago, groaned. 

"Wonderful, there's two of them," he muttered. Theseus side-eyed Malfoy, not entirely sure who he was talking about, and let the matter drop. 

"In the meantime, this pretty bird -- once upon a time highly valued for its feathers, which were known to enhance the recuperative properties for any variety of healing potion, and to add a little extra _Oomph_ to illegal hallucinogenic potions before they were hunted to extinction," Newt looked pointedly at Malfoy, then, raising an eyebrow, said, "I know how many birds there are, Malfoy, don't think I'm not keeping an eye on you," before resuming his original train of thought. "This pretty bird is already having enough of a bad day, getting slobbered over by a little kitty that went the way of the Do-do about a century before it did. Should its day really get any worse?"

"Do-do?" Malfoy asked, his face scrunched up in confusion. Theseus didn't know, either, but he wasn't going to admit it. Instead, he was going to savour in the priceless look of utter confusion on Malfoy's face.

"I understood that reference!" Weasley exclaimed, which had the effect of making the very big, grumpy-looking bird angry. It made a high-pitched screech that made everyone wince -- except, apparently, Newt, who must have been waiting for it.

"Keep your bloody voices down," Newt scolded. "Claire is a very sensitive soul."

"Of course he is," Theseus said, seriously.

"She," Newt corrected.

"Right, because I can sex weird birbs from a mile away. You've misnamed creatures before, Newt," Theseus said. Newt ignored him.

"The point being, Ms. Granger, that your question is irrelevant. We don't know what would happen naturally in the wild. And we're trying to preserve these creatures, aren't we?" Newt asked, turning his attention to her once more. His stare was powerful enough to stop her in mid-protest. Theseus wished he could bottle that power and use it on the Minister. "Who's the magizoologist here? As I invented the profession, I'm going to go with: _Not you_."

Granger's mouth dropped open. For a miracle, nothing came out.

"I like him," Malfoy decided, with a firm nod.

Percival snorted again, but Theseus was undecided as to whether it was a _Hands off_ snort or a _Me, too_ snort. In the interest of efficiency -- and also, knowing Percival very, very well -- Theseus decided to go with both options.

Newt freed the bird, wiped it gently with a handkerchief Percival offered him -- 

"You're not getting that back, you realize that?" Theseus said. Percival shrugged.

\-- and gave it a moment to stabilize itself on the palm of his hand. The bird flapped its wings with an irritated squawk that made Theseus' innards curl, took to the air, fluttered around the netting keeping it from joining its flock, and came back down to settle on Newt's shoulder. Newt's smile was very sweet.

"Well," Newt said, taking a long slow look around before shrugging at Theseus. "It goes without saying: fair attempt, but not good enough."

"You're worse than McGonagall," Theseus groused, crossing his arms.

"I wouldn't know, she liked me," Newt said. "Anyway, I've got better habitats more suited for them in my case. I'll take them down, get them settled, do an examination, and come back to give you a run-down of what you've found…"

A little animal -- _little_ like a giant mastiff -- waddled over from somewhere behind the storage boxes where they'd piled up some food and water for the creatures. It had a cute face with a long snout and dark eyes, floppy ears that reminded Theseus' of a piglet, a body covered in diamond-shaped overlapping scales that they'd discovered were highly articulated, and a tail about as long as the rest of him.

Theseus didn't know what it was, but it was the nicest creature of the lot. It snuffled at their feet, brushed against their legs in recognition and greeting, and, when it arrived in front of Newt, it rolled back onto its hind legs and held up its forepaws, wanting what Granger had affectionately called _Upsies_.

"Well, hello there," Newt said, grinning as the creature wriggled its toes at him in what was far too human mannerisms. Then he noticed something -- because Newt always noticed something -- and all pleasure drained out of him, twisting into red hot rage that blasted the room with enough energy to make everyone stagger where they stood. "Those bloody twisted sons of --"

Newt picked up the creature gently, bringing it close to his body. The creature snuffled against his neck, rubbing scales and pulling at his clothes with curiosity, and didn't seem to mind either the human contact, nor Newt's fussing. If anything, the creature made happy little squeaking noises that quickly became the contented purring that Manfred-the-Kneazle never admitted to doing whenever Theseus scratched his belly.

Without a word to anyone, Newt turned around, marched to his suitcase, opened the latch, and stepped inside.

"That's not good," Theseus said, pointing out the obvious.

Percival hummed in agreement.

"Isn't anyone going to go after him?" Granger asked, wide-eyed and, for a change, out of her depth. 

"By all means, go after the self-proclaimed world-renowned magizoologist, Granger," Malfoy drawled. "Surely, he needs someone like you to point out the errors of his ways and to nag him into subservience."

"Right, that's me gone, back at work, where I belong," Weasley said. The Auror well and truly loved his wife, but he had enough self-preservation to know when to stand up for her, or when to step out, because she could handle herself just fine. Theseus respected Weasley on that principle alone. Most men wouldn't have been so wise.

Theseus, who groused at his own lack of wisdom on certain occasions, was smart enough to take his cue. "I'm sure my desk is buckling under the weight of all the papers that landed on it since we came down," he said, glancing at Percival with desperation. "I could use a hand."

"Because I love paperwork so much," Percival said, so insincerely sincere that Malfoy shot Percival an appraising, even _approving_ look. Percival must have learned the hard way -- or was grumbling about hard-won knowledge -- that Newt wouldn't notice that he was gone until the creatures were settled, because he nodded sharply and followed Theseus out.

Right before the doors swung shut, Theseus heard Malfoy say, "Put it down, Potter. No, don't give me that look. We are not -- _no_ , Potter. I swear to you, if you don't suck that lip back in right now and put the bloody creature down, you're sleeping on the sofa --"

"He's as highly-spirited as you described," Percival said.

"Aw, look at you, being all polite and shite," Theseus said, and pushed the call button for the lift back to his office.

* * *

Theseus gave Manfred his best apologetic rumble and offered him some of the spicy ginger-glazed chicken from the take-away container.

_It's not my fault, Manny, they followed me home_ , he tried to make the Kneazle understand, but as soon as Manfred had the chicken in his mouth, he dashed off again, trying to get away from Granger. Apparently she'd had a half-Kneazle while at Hogwart's, it had nearly eaten Weasley's pet rat-which-wasn't-a-rat, and had become one of the master rat catchers of Hogwart's dungeons. Granger missed that half-Kneazle very much. Weasley didn't.

"Who's watching the sproglings?" Theseus asked, in a very unsubtle attempt to get Weasley and Granger out of his house. Weasley looked up in constipated appreciation, unsure whether he wanted to go home or not. Granger was distracted from her latest attempt to catch Manfred long enough for Manfred to get away.

"Molly's got them. She'll take Rose to school in the morning and promised to take Hugo to the sitter, but I think she's just going to keep him in like she always does," Granger said, already casting about for Manfred.

"Ah," Theseus said, not bothering to hide his disappointment. Percival kicked him in the shin. "Well, that's good, I suppose."

"Absolutely, we can work on the case all night! I, for one, am very anxious to discover what Mr. Scamander has learned from the creatures. Oh, I wish you'd let me go into the case. I'm so fascinated with the idea of a portable zoo --"

Percival shifted his seat, putting himself between Granger and Newt's case.

"Let Newt work, Hermione," Potter said, reminding Theseus why he was the favourite. Potter took another bite of his curry, sucked the spicy sauce from a piece of food, and offered it to the creature in his lap. The creature snuffled at it, went wide-eyed, and bit into the piece with fervour. Once it gulped the piece down, it licked Potter's fingers with enthusiasm, and snuffled around for more.

"Still not taking it home," Malfoy said, daintily picking at his salad. He was frowning over a big chunk of iceberg lettuce, and missed the sly grin that shot in his direction. 

Merlin help him, but Theseus was far too invested in learning the outcome of that particular tug of war.

Another few minutes passed before there were any signs of life from the case. Newt emerged, looking more harried than usual. His shirt was rolled up to his elbows, his vest was open, and there was a bloody tear down one calf. He ran a hand through his hair, which was already sticking up in several improbable directions given that gravity still trumped magic, and snatched the Firewhiskey out of Percival's hands.

Theseus' faith that he'd made a right choice in a proper suitor for his little brother was restored when Percival took the glass out of Newt's hand and dragged Newt onto his lap. Newt threw his arms around Percival's neck, buried his face in the crook of his shoulder, and, an instant later, his body shuddered with a muffled sob.

The room immediately fell silent. Granger, who had been asking questions without pause, stopped in mid-word.

Percival murmured something gentle in Newt's hair, reached out to put the Firewhiskey down on the table -- Theseus took the glass from him before it fell -- and picked Newt up like he weighed nothing, carrying him toward the kitchen. "Excuse us."

It should be funny, watching his baby brother, who was definitely not _baby_ -sized anymore, being carried out of the room, but Theseus had seen Newt like this too many times before to react like a proper big brother. He didn't even think of eavesdropping for material to tease his sibling with, later. He cast a _Mufflatio_ to give Newt and Percival their privacy.

The silence lingered. No one finished their meals. Granger looked halfway into demanding to know what was going on. It was Weasley who said, "I guess it's worse than we think."

"I can't imagine what could possibly be worse than how we found them," Potter said.

"They were found with Muggles," Malfoy said, staring into his salad contemplatively. His voice softened, and he said, "You know better than anyone how terrible Muggles can be, Harry."

Potter didn't answer. He hugged the creature closer to his chest and bowed his head. Granger and Weasley exchanged questioning glances, but neither of them asked any questions. Theseus swallowed his scolding about _Careful, Malfoy, your prejudices are showing_ , but decided he didn't need an explanation, either. The expression on Malfoy's face was familiar, too.

He'd seen it in the mirror, once, when they'd finally been able to bring Newt home from Hogwarts, many years ago.

The creature licked Potter's face, which made him laugh wetly. Malfoy looked up and groaned in disgust at the display. Weasley started eating again, finding refuge in the obliviousness of _Everything's okay_ , and Granger rose abruptly, halfway across the room before Manfred froze, hissed at her, and vanished into the bottomless void of a sock-eating Hell that was the place Beneath the Ottoman.

It was the better part of an hour before Newt returned with Percival, the remnants of a take-away container under warming charms, Manfred long vanished from this world. Granger looked up immediately from where she was staring wistfully at the creature snoozing in Potter's lap, and started asking questions.

"What did you do? What's going on? Why did you run off with that creature? How could you be so selfish as to not tell us what's happening? Are they all right? Can we see them? I want to see them. I demand you take me to see the creatures right now --"

Newt was about to crumble. Theseus stood up, opening his mouth to intervene, when Percival beat him to it. 

Percival pointed a finger in Granger's face. In the scariest no-nonsense _I-will-end-you_ voice Theseus ever heard him use, Percival said, "You. Shut up."

"Hey," Weasley said, and started to stand up, too. He withered under Percival's cold stare, and sat down, his shoulders rounded into himself, bowing his head in what was a valiant attempt to make himself look small.

Percival turned to Malfoy and Potter. Potter only pressed his mouth together and re-settled the creature in his arms. Malfoy shrugged, but nodded firmly, in full agreement and understanding.

Turning to Newt, Percival's voice gentled to unimaginable levels, and he said, "You. Sit down. Eat something."

Granger was red with self-righteous fury and was about to launch into… a lecture, maybe? Theseus wouldn't put it past her to cast the _Imperius_ if it meant she would get her way. He liked the woman, he really did. She had the uncanny ability to get things done and knew more than anyone in the wizarding world, bar Malfoy, but her deep-seated need for control and knowledge often tipped out of tolerably overbearing and into chest-crushing suffocation.

Potter said something quiet to her, and she settled down, but Theseus was certain that she'd added two new names to her personal, private list of nemeses. He'd warn Percival, but the Director of MACUSA wasn't an idiot. The only potential better duellist on the planet was Potter and that was less because of skill and more because of sheer power. Theseus would always place his bets on Percival. He was Theseus' best mate; he wouldn't betray their friendship like that.

Whatever Potter said was enough to keep Granger in her seat, sitting on her hands and silent. Weasley nibbled at the remains of the take-away that hadn't already been appropriated by Percival for Newt's meal. Malfoy draped an arm across Potter's shoulders with the sort of predatory protectiveness that was reflected in the quiet calm and care that Percival was showing Newt.

All was right in the world, Theseus decided. He left the room to get more alcohol and clean glasses.

He had a feeling they were going to need it.

* * *

"The long and short of it," Newt said, after Percival deemed him sufficiently watered and hydrated, a shot of the Muggle tequila from the back of Theseus' cabinet in front of him, _just in case_ , "Is that all of those creatures are extinct. Except Stewart. His species is on the endangered list."

He nibbled on the dark chocolate that Percival had produced, from somewhere, and didn't meet anyone's eyes.

"Extinct? Which ones?" Granger had a parchment in front of her. The feathered quill was vibrating in excitement.

"Oh, well," Newt said, glancing first at Percival, then at Theseus, but meeting no one else's eyes. "There's the flock of Huia, last one recorded was mounted for a museum back in the nineteen-sixties. Claire -- she's the Moa, last one hunted down probably in the fifteenth century."

"What's a Moa?" Theseus asked, because he had no idea. "Are you talking about that big birb?"

"Poor thing," Newt said, nodding as he reached for the tequila. He didn't drink it, though; he stared at it for a long time before putting the glass back down. "Already laid an egg. She's the last of her kind, and unless there's genetic compatibilities with ostriches or the Cassowar, I'm not sure they'll ever get properly fertilized. Maybe the Red Rhea -- I'll have to look into it some more. I might have better luck with the Kawa-Kiwi -- did you know that the only reason that the Kiwi are always so small is because they don't have safe habitats anymore? They see nearly everything else as a predator. Their instinct is to stay small because it's safer and they aren't as large a target as they are when they're in their _kawa_ form --"

"That's fascinating," Theseus said, recognizing the oncoming train wreck of an endless magizoological lecture when he saw one. He quickly derailed the topic. "What about the others?"

"Well, there's the Smilodon -- cats with the big teeth? Saber-toothed tigers?" Newt asked, glancing around at no one in particular. Theseus thought he might be looking for Manfred. "They're still babies, if you can believe that. I'm guessing, three or four months, going by the usual growth rate for other _Panthera_ species and considering the length of their molars. I don't know much more than that. They're prehistoric! I have a few palaeontology books on the era, but I'll have to get in touch with a few Muggle colleagues of mine. They're the only sources of viable biological and physiological information, I'm afraid, since magic users don't really pay much mind to these things."

Newt was bitter, and justly so; he had had such a fight to get the smallest amount of protection for magical creatures. The wizarding world's laws weren't just backwards; they were ancient, and the Winzengamot's population reflected that. Change in public perception, thanks to Newt's books, was coming, but it would be decades for any real creature preservation to take effect, even in this day and age. Even the so-called dragon preserves had more to do with preserving human life, though the dragon-keepers tended to have a different mindset than their administrators.

"I could --" Granger volunteered.

"What about these guys?" Potter interrupted, lifting up the creature in his arms. Theseus would have kissed Potter for derailing Granger if not for the fact that he thought kissing people, in general, was somewhere on the bottom of his list of Things He'd Do Only If Lives Were In Great Peril. Also, Malfoy would make a good attempt at killing him.

Not that he'd win, really.

"Thylacine," Newt said, without needing to think about it. He smiled faintly. "Tasmanian tiger. Or wolf, depending on who's talking and whichever mood they're in, I suppose. They're dual-species, did you know that? They can morph between wolf and tiger forms. I'm fascinated by what that could mean for their social structures, but, anyway, the last one seen alive was well over a hundred years ago."

"But where do they come from?" Granger demanded, her quill dribbling ink on the parchment. From experience, Theseus knew the ink wouldn't seep into the parchment -- Granger charmed all of her paper against it -- but would, instead, drip all over his nice table and floor. "They're supposed to be _extinct_! How can they be alive now?"

Three questions was an act of impressive restraint for Granger, and Newt seemed to realize that. And yet, he hesitated in responding as kindly as he normally would because he was holding something back. The way he glanced at Theseus and grimaced when Percival squeezed the nape of his neck dully informed Theseus that whatever Newt wasn't saying, it wasn't anything good.

"Percival, would you like to see Newt's baby pictures --" 

Newt kicked Theseus' leg. "I'm too tired for your shite."

"I'd love to," Percival said, playing along. Theseus didn't doubt that the photo albums would be broken out at some point, but at the moment, it made for good persuasion.

"There's a lovely one of Newt hanging from our mother's favourite Hipogriff wearing nothing but his birthday suit," Theseus said. He started to stand up.

"Ugh, okay, fine. Sit your damn arse down," Newt groused. He dithered for a few seconds more but didn't start talking until Percival nudged his leg. "You remember when I went to Africa?"

"Playing fetch with wild hyenas? Going on and on about some bird named Pearl that turned out to be a _Nundu_? No, I recall nothing of the sort," Theseus said.

"You said you were after poachers," Percival said.

"Nn… not exactly," Newt dragged out. "There were poachers, but those came later, and that's how --"

Theseus glared at him, sensing a story that he didn't know about. Newt immediately shut up and shook his head. There was a clue to how he'd been about to finish his sentence in the way Percival scratched his chin. Theseus was sure of it.

"Never mind, that doesn't matter. The point being, I was in Africa because I've been hearing stories about illegal genetic manipulation labs. I didn't think too much of it at first. Mostly it's done for addressing medical issues, growing new organs, stem cell therapies, that sort of thing. Quite ingenious, actually, those Muggles."

Theseus glanced around the room. The only ones who seemed to understand half of what Newt was talking about were Granger and Percival. Granger was a Muggleborn who kept in touch with her family on a regular basis, and who was well known for leaving her glossy Muggle periodicals in the common rooms. Percival, however, had no such excuse, and Theseus narrowed his eyes in betrayal.

Potter was looking thoughtful, but undecided, while Malfoy shot a curious glance in Potter's direction, as if trying to refresh his memory.

"Then I remembered that Muggles also managed to clone sheep, back in the… nineties? and that they've had enormous advances since then, so I thought I'd at least look into it. And the more I've looked, the more concerned I've gotten, which led me to several laboratories across Europe and eventually to Africa --" Newt paused.

Weasley raised his arm slowly.

"We're not in Hogwarts," Granger said, rolling her eyes. "Just ask your question."

"Um," Weasley said. "What's _clone_? I mean, I know what sheep are, but I'm hoping it's not what I'm thinking it is!"

Potter snorted.

"What, it's a legitimate question, I've heard things!" Weasley said.

"Honestly, Ron," Granger said. "Didn't you pay attention in herbology? It means to cut a branch or a leaf and make a new offshoot."

Weasley's mouth dropped in mortification. "You mean they cut the sheep's legs off to grow new ones? I thought Muggles knew how reproduction worked!"

Malfoy covered his eyes. Under his breath, just loud enough to be heard, he said, "It's a figurative term."

"It's just a fancy word for replication," Newt said with a sigh. "But if it helps, think of it as a _Gemini_ curse. Except deliberate, and controlled, and not as annoying. In essence, Muggles found a way to copy a completely new creature from a scrap of flesh."

"That's not better," Weasley exclaimed.

"No, it's not," Newt said. "I mean, it's one thing if they're trying to breed more robust animals to cope with rampaging disease or this climate change disaster they've caused --"

"Don't ask," Theseus warned Weasley.

"Wasn't going to," Weasley mumbled.

"But when they start trying to breed _Aurochs_ , I start to worry," Newt said.

"Merlin, no," Malfoy said. "Not _Aurochs_? Are they mad? Don't they know that we only barely managed to keep them from hunting down and eating half of Poland back in the sixteen-hundreds?"

"No, and that's part of the problem," Newt said. "Muggle history has been scrubbed far too clean of references to magic and creatures. Or they've been made up to be stories and legends. Or Muggles just don't believe them. Luckily, the _Aurochs_ they've been trying to bring back are being bred into their existing cow stock, and their natural magic hasn't bred true. So far. 

"However, trying to breed a new generation of _Aurochs_ doesn't mean much when they seem to have the capability to, oh, I don't know. Bring to life an entire creature from a single cell. It's the magical equivalent of a _Jurassic Park_ nightmare."

Weasley raised his hand again.

"It's a movie," Potter said. "I have it on disc. I'll show you when we're off duty."

"Best not," Granger said. "He'll have nightmares."

"I concur. Best not," Malfoy said, looking a little haunted. Anything that frightened Malfoy was something that interested Theseus, so he made a mental note to look into it. 

"So that's what they're doing, then? Using material from… I don't know, museum artefacts? Old bones? Fur coats? Just to create… or re-create extinct animals?" Granger asked.

"In essence," Newt said, spreading his hands.

"But why?" Granger pressed.

"That's a question more for the people in question, yeah?" Newt said. He turned into Percival, bumping their knees together. "It's not an opportunity I have been privileged to have quite yet."

"Newt," Percival said quietly.

"Yes, I know," Newt said wearily.

"But you must have your suspicions," Granger insisted.

"I certainly do," Newt said. He didn't elaborate, which made Granger frown, but she must have distracted herself, because she started writing again.

"What about Stewart?" Weasley asked suddenly. "Who's Stewart?"

"The Pangolin," Newt said. He sounded tired, a little detached.

"What about Stewart, though? You didn't say anything about him." Weasley said, sitting up straight.

"We don't ask about Stewart," Percival said coldly. Theseus caught Percival's attention and raised a brow to inform him that they would be talking about Stewart, later. Percival nodded briefly.

Granger was still writing, and going at it with furious abandon. She kept glancing up as if she wanted to ask about Stewart, no matter what Percival said. Theseus stepped up, because he could tell how tired Newt was. It had already been a long day for everyone. 

"From the way you're talking about them, is it safe to assume they're all magical in nature?" Theseus asked. He'd learned very early on that just because they were animals, it didn't mean they were magical, and just because they weren't magical, didn't mean they weren't worthy of the same consideration that Newt was fighting for. But the question needed to be asked. There was the Statute of Secrecy to be concerned about.

Newt bowed his head and crossed his arms tightly across his chest. "Yeah." Then, without warning, he stood up and headed toward his case. "I should make the rounds, make sure everyone's settled in. Him, too," he said, nodding toward Potter's charge.

Potter made a honest-to-goodness _whine_ at the thought of letting go of the Thylacine. Malfoy snorted. Potter asked, "Can I help?"

Newt gave Potter two seconds of consideration. He glanced at Percival, who raised an eyebrow in answer, and finally nodded. "Yeah, all right."

"Can I --" Granger began.

"No," Newt said, already descending into his case. Theseus was impressed that neither Malfoy nor Weasley asked to go inside, too.

Percival waited until both Newt and Potter had gone in, and for the lid to close, before he reached for the tequila Newt hadn't touched and drank it down.

"Stewart," he said, as if that answered everything. He put the shot glass on the table, precisely positioned it, and sat back, tugging down his vest. "Stewart is the scaly creature he took down first. He's a Pangolin -- as a species, they're not extinct, but Stewart belongs to an endangered line that is considered magical in nature. According to Newt…"

Percival trailed off. He stared at the bottle of tequila until Theseus pushed it toward him. Percival poured himself another shot, but he didn't drink it.

"Pangolin scales were sometimes used in potions requiring a transformative component," Malfoy said quietly, his voice from far-away, as if he was reciting from an old memory. "Typically those containing antagonistic ingredients. In theory, the scales cut through the irritable properties to release the actual active magic, but otherwise, they have no real purpose. Potion-making has evolved in the last hundred years. Pangolin scales haven't been used in… decades, if not more."

"Yes," Percival said, throwing back the shot of tequila. He winced. "Well, it seems that, given Stewart is missing most of his mature scales and is in the process of regrowing them, either someone hasn't gotten the memo, or No-Maj have been using Pangolin scales for some unknown purpose."

"The illegal potions ring from a few months ago," Theseus said.

"It's a theory," Percival said.

No one spoke for a long time. 

"It's the only theory we have," Malfoy said. Then, as if sucking on a lemon, he asked, "What about the other animals? Are they --"

"As far as Newt can tell, they seem fine. He won't know until he examines them further. On the surface, Stewart seems the most affected. He's been declawed and his scent glands removed. Newt believes that, without his natural defences, and considering how friendly he is with humans, Stewart will never be able to return to his habitat." 

Percival paused.

"The others may be the same way."

Granger put down her quill. Weasley looked green.

But it was Malfoy, with all of his Pureblood manners and education, who voiced exactly what Theseus was thinking.

"Well, fuck."

* * *

Theseus was elbows-deep into a mound of paperwork -- half of it eyewitness accounts of Muggles ~~brazenly~~ drunkenly exploring Knockturn Alley before being harried out, which, _what the fuck?_ , the other half documentation from the Obliviators who spent far too much overtime hunting down every witness to the Weasley Wizarding Wheeze fireworks that went off in Times Square shortly afterward -- when Percival knocked on the door.

"Come in," Theseus said, covering his head with his arms. He heard the door creak open, two shuffling sets of steps stopping dead in the middle of the office, and the low murmur of his best mate in the whole wide world asking Newt to close the door.

"Theseus?" Newt asked, sounding concerned as always.

"I can't take it anymore," Theseus said into his own armpit. "I quit."

A long silence followed. Theseus imagined Newt and Percival exchanging glances, and having one of those mysterious conversations that well-matched partners always seemed to have. Theseus thought he'd be jealous of the Malfoy/Potter monster the first time he'd witnessed the phenomenon, but instead, he only felt rather proud of having achieved that sort of symbiosis without having to throw himself into the experimental potion.

It didn't mean he was going to look up from his very safe, dark space to observe the Newt/Percival creature in their natural environment and start taking field notes. That was Newt's wheelhouse, not Theseus'. Theseus was, in theory, in charge of magical law enforcement, which included figuring out how the bloody _heck_ all these Muggles were getting their hands on all things magical.

"We've got good news?"

"Is that a suggestion or an actual thing? Because I'm on to you two. You can't fool me," Theseus said. His armpit was nice and warm. A little mouldy with an undertone of positively rank -- ew. Merlin, he was in need of a good _Scourgify_. When was the last time he'd had a bath?

"I've got chocolate?" Newt said. Just like that, Theseus abandoned his dedication to his best mate, and accepted his little brother back into his life.

Too late, he remembered that his little brother was _his little brother_ , and he'd looked up in time to see Newt taking a big bite out of the chocolate bar in his hands.

"You little --" Theseus made grabby hands. His wand was too far away to summon the chocolate, but that was what Percival was for, it seemed, since he plucked the chocolate out of Newt's hands and dropped it on Theseus' desk. Theseus considered breaking off the pieces that were Newt-contaminated, then decided that he didn't care, and took a bigger bite than Newt. On principle.

"So," Newt began, and stopped there. He peered around Theseus' arms meaningfully.

"No," Theseus warned. He did not need Newt messing around with regular Auror casework. They needed the gen-e-t-ee-ca-l whatchamacallits sorted out, first, and that was where Newt's attention needed to be. He covered the paperwork with his arms and dragged it all in closer to his body.

"It's just more No-Maj business," Percival said, deflecting Newt's wandering interest with an ease that Theseus had grounds to be jealous about. However, on reflection, if there was someone out there who was better at keeping Newt out of trouble than he was, Theseus would… well, he wouldn't kiss them, that was even more disgusting that his smelly armpits. But he'd strongly encourage them to get married.

Since he'd already gotten them together, Theseus planned to wait a bit before he pushed Plan C of his plan. Get them married so they'd adopt a lot of babies for Theseus to spoil.

"What's your so-called good news?" Theseus prompted, grateful that Percival didn't cave in to Newt's earnest wide-eyed expression pleading for more. 

"Oh," Newt said, breaking off from admiring Percival's face to cross the room and sit himself in one of the chairs on the other side of Theseus' desk. "I talked to Rolf. He's going to New Zealand with Luna and the twins, some sort of expedition to clear up the literature that we have on the giant horntail slugs. Luna thinks they're better classified as basketscrewts, Rolf thinks they're actually a sub-species only peripherally related to screwts in the first place, and the kids have a plan to hunt down and capture the elusive katipō --"

"Fascinating," Theseus said, glancing at Percival. The long-suffering expression only confirmed what he already knew: that any conversation between Newt and their cousin Rolf had been ninety percent shared squee over their latest discoveries. Theseus supposed it could have been worse in the long run, and Newt could have been more interested in invertebrates and bugs like Rolf. "But why are we talking about Rolf?"

"Because he's volunteered to bring Claire and the Hiua home," Newt said, squirming excitedly in his seat. "I'd go, because it's been ages since I've visited Hongi, but even longer since Rolf's seen him. We both think that Hongi will be our best bets in finding an appropriate habitat for them. Did you know the Māori consider the Huia sacred?"

"Claire's the big birb, right?" Theseus asked.

Newt rolled his eyes. "Yeah. She's the Moa."

"Well, that's good," Theseus said, leaning back on the desk. Claire might have an excellent reason for being foul-tempered, what with being supposedly extinct and not having a mating partner, but she was _foul-tempered_ and _mean_ , and half of the Aurors were more terrified of her than they were of Newt's Nundu. Whenever Newt let her out of the case so that she could stretch her legs, the Aurors cleared out, and fast. "What about the rest?"

"A bit trickier," Percival said, leaning against Newt's chair. "Stewart's staying with us, of course. He could be introduced into his community again, but neither one of us think that he'll be entirely safe on his own."

"That'll be interesting," Theseus said with a grin. He held up a finger. "You've got a kleptomaniac Niffler, an wanderlusting Demiguise, and now a wardbreaking Pangolin."

"I know," Percival said, looking very tired at the mere prospect of the three creatures forming up into a mini inter-species pack of thieves.

"I know," Newt said, grinning from ear to ear as if the formation of a mini inter-species pack was of particular magizoological importance and interest, not realizing the bloody _trouble_ that they could get up to. Theseus was already imagining all sorts of bank robbing situations.

"Your funeral," Theseus said quietly. He didn't think Percival heard him, but from the withering scowl on his face, maybe he had. Very quickly, he covered up with, "I'll sign off on it. And the others?"

"Newt wants to take the Smilodon back to the United States until he can get in contact with one of the No-Maj expert on the species who won't panic and freak out, and we'll go from there."

"Figure out the Smilodon's species, figure out their territory and habitat, decide where's the best place to put them," Newt said. He rubbed his hand over the scruff on his jaw. "Then, we need to figure out how to keep them contained in the wild, make sure they're in an environment where they can learn to fend for themselves, that sort of thing. I have no idea how we're going to manage it. If it gets out that there's Smilodon in bloody _Yellowstone Park_ \--"

"MACUSA has a crack team of Obliviators," Percival said with a quiet sigh, as if they'd had this conversation already, and agreed that it wasn't a perfect solution, nor one that they could maintain indefinitely. Something was bound to get out. Muggles had _cameras_ , and apparently, very effective ways of disseminating incriminating evidence.

Once more, Theseus thought it would be an excellent idea to expand the Muggle and Magical Metropolitan Initiative (MAMMI) office, but the Winzengamot was packed sufficiently full of Purebloods that getting funding from their clawed hands was like trying to pull the Dark Lord's teeth. He knew that Percival wasn't having much luck with MACUSA's equivalent No-Maj-magical relations department, but that was because the older generation of witches and wizards on the other side of the pond were still stuck in a time when the Rappaport Law was in full effect.

"Anyway," Theseus said, breaking the tense silence. "I'm hearing that you don't know, and you're putting a moratorium on it."

"That sums it up, yeah," Newt said, kicking his feet up. His suitcase was at his side and his arm dangled over the side of the chair, brushing the top flap of his travel case.

Theseus counted on his fingers. "There's one bunch left. The… what did you call them?"

"Thylacines?" Newt shrugged. He grimaced slightly. "Yeah, about them…"

"We've got an idea," Percival said. "I don't suppose you know where we can find Potter and Malfoy?"

Theseus looked between the two of them. Newt's innocent face was never very good, but Percival didn't even try. Theseus considered for one second what might help Potter manage his stress levels better, what could annoy Malfoy the most, and came up with, "I know exactly where they are. I'll take you there." 

"What about your paperwork?" Newt asked.

Theseus waved a hand in the air with a bit more force than he'd meant to use, and the stack of pressing issues _Vanished_ into another realm of existence. He winced for two seconds, decided that it wasn't a problem if he didn't see one, and that _maybe,_ someone would get him copies later, when he convincingly admitted that he had no idea where the first set had gone.

"What paperwork?"

* * *

"If Percival didn't have to go back to work on Monday, I wouldn't be asking," Newt said seriously. "But I know you like them and they like you, so there won't be a problem."

That much, Theseus learned quickly, was true. One of the Thylacines took an instant dislike to Weasley, for some reason -- Newt said it had to do with food, and how the Thylacines were very group-minded and shared their food wherever possible. They frowned upon how Weasley wouldn't even give up a nibble from his plate.

"I found enough references in my library to know what they'll eat and what kind of environment they'd do best in, so I can give you a breakdown of mealtimes and foodstuffs that they'll be able to eat. They're still growing, and we'll fine tune things as we go along, of course," Newt was telling Potter, who was as wide-eyed as a child on Christmas Day and discovering that he was being given everything he ever wanted.

Malfoy was, on the other hand, grim-faced and displeased, too tight-lipped to speak. While Newt went on a tangent about marsupial habits and everything that the Muggle and magical world knew about Thylacines that Potter seemed to have no trouble following, Malfoy loosened up and slowly found his tongue.

"Absolutely not," Malfoy said.

Potter turned his big green eyes on him, his lower lip sticking out just so, and there was a glisten of tears to accompany the pleading clasp of his hands together. Theseus would be proud if he didn't suspect Potter of having taken lessons at the Newt School of Puppy Eyes and Getting Your Own Way.

Percival looked between Newt and Potter, threw up his hands in defeat, and took a graceful retreat some distance away.

"You," Newt said, turning to Malfoy and sticking a finger in his face, "I demand an oath upon your wand that you won't allow any harm to come to the pride of Thylacine in any way, shape, or form."

Malfoy went cross-eyed staring at the tip of Newt's fingers.

"They are not for potion ingredients, do you understand? They aren't for experimentation, either. If you bring them to the Department of Mysteries or discuss them to any of the other Unspeakables, I will --"

"You'll what?" Malfoy challenged.

Newt's eyes narrowed in classic, _Don't, son. Just don't_ threat diversion, but Malfoy didn't back down. "George and Pearl are very, very keen on the tiny pride. It will be entirely out of my control if the Nundu take exception to any mistreatment whatsoever of their little cousins."

Malfoy sneered in response, but he'd gone pale at the idea. Theseus wondered where this slab of steel that was his brother had come from, and glanced away from Percival, who was regarding Newt with undisguised appreciation. Theseus had absolutely no need to know the details of their relationship.

"Right, then," Newt said, suddenly cheerful again. When he turned to Potter, Malfoy also turned to look at Potter, his eyebrow raised in forbidding Pureblood threat. "I've got a box packed, enough supplies for a month, and a few instructions. Shall we get them settled at the Manor?"

"Can we?" Potter asked, cranking up those award-winning Puppy Eyes on Malfoy, throwing in a bit of irresistible lower-lip pout for good measure. Clearly, he'd graduated at the top of his class in the A-level course.

Malfoy postured for a moment. He raised his pointy chin, he crossed his arms over his chest, and, after a long moment of disapproval, Potter caved.

"I'll do that thing you like," Potter faux-whispered.

"On demand," Malfoy bargained. "For as long as we have them at the Manor."

"I have veto rights for when I'm not in the mood, injured, or hungry," Potter countered.

"While sleeping?" Malfoy asked.

"I'll allow it," Potter said.

"One veto right per month," Malfoy said.

"One per day," Potter said.

"Per week," Malfoy said.

"Done," Potter agreed, sticking out his hand.

Theseus glanced between the two of them. "I don't want to know."

"I kind of do," Newt said.

Percival also looked interested, but he had enough sense not to speak up. There were limits to what Theseus wanted to know about his colleagues and subordinates.

For an instant, Theseus thought it was quite unfair of Malfoy not to let Potter have the bloody species-changing blighters. They were awfully sweet, with a propensity for territorialism, and intense protectiveness over those who belonged to their pride. Theseus had a feeling that the famous Malfoy peacocks wouldn't be for much longer, either, since the Thylacines were predators. And that would be such a shame, since the wizarding world really needed unnecessary reminders of the war against Voldemort.

But then, he saw the soft look on Malfoy's face as he watched Potter follow Newt into the case to see the Thylacines,. Malfoy was a good man, deep down beneath all the Pureblood bollocks, and he'd do anything to make Potter happy. He just couldn't make it easy because he had a reputation to maintain, and Potter must know that, because he seemed more than happy to play along for the crowd.

Malfoy caught Theseus looking. His eyes immediately narrowed, his pinched look returned, and his scowl was firmly in place by the time Theseus raised his hands up in the air in mock surrender.

"Well," Theseus said, turning to Percival. "I'm pretty sure they'll be at it for a while. Interested in helping me come up with some solutions to our growing Secrecy problem?"

"You just want me to find the paperwork you _Vanished_ , don't you?" Percival asked.

"Oh, God, yes, please. I don't fancy going down to see Mildred in Records without a sacrificial offering. If we have to resort to that, do you think you could distract her while I get the files?"

* * *

It was much later that evening when Newt announced, to no one's surprise, "I'm tired."

Newt stretched out on the sofa and planted his patchwork socks in Theseus' lap. Theseus, who'd been on the receiving end of Newt's loving attention for a very long time, barely glanced up from his book when it was knocked out of his hands, and recovered at exactly the right page he'd been on before his arse of a brother disturbed him.

"I'm tired," Newt repeated. Manfred jumped up from the Sockless Void Under The Ottoman and landed lightly on Newt's chest. "Rub my feet."

"You willingly spent six hours in a cramped room with Granger and her books to set up a protocol if we come across more creatures. I have zero sympathy," Theseus said.

"Well, you willingly spent six hours in a cramped office with Percy trying to sort out your un _Vanished_ paperwork and figure out how you're going to handle all these new Muggle-crossing incidents and the overtime expenses for the Obliviators," Newt said, kicking at Theseus' books.

"The difference is, I _like_ Percy. He's my best mate. And in the interest of international cooperation, it works out better when all the governments and law enforcement departments follow similar protocols. It just so happens that your boyfriend has been obsessing about proper integration and associated guidelines for _years_. I'd be stupid not to take advantage of his expertise," Theseus said, shoving Newt's legs from his lap.

They came back a second later, coming perilously close to jabbing Theseus in the crown jewels hard enough to make the squib Queen wince. Newt's ankles were bony and sharp.

"Granger isn't so bad," Newt said. Then, while rubbing his eyes and muffling his frustration, he added, "Just wish she'd stop quoting my own damn books at me. It's like, I bloody _know_. I wrote it! And she's tossing all this at me from the second edition. The fifth edition is coming out next month. She's working on out-dated information!"

Theseus patted Newt's leg and turned the page of his book. He read three sentences before something occurred to him.

"You got on with Potter, though," Theseus said.

It went without saying that Potter's group of friends and family was very, very small. All the fame that came with saving the wizarding world from the most recent incarnation of Voldemort had all but guaranteed that no one would ever see Potter as anything else other than a hero to be worshipped and admired. Few outsiders seemed to realize that there was a human being behind the hero who had bloody _sacrificed_ himself selflessly for people he didn't even know.

Fewer still understood that Potter had endured far more than people imagined. Theseus couldn't even begin to guess at his history.

But if there was anyone who could understand Potter, without knowing the dark, muddled details of his past, it was Newt. Theseus knew that his baby brother had gone through Hell, too, and the story he'd been told likely barely scratched the surface.

He'd always wanted Newt to have someone who could know all the details, someone who could support him on the bad days and nights. He didn't know if Newt told Percival any of it, or if he ever would, but Theseus was certain it would come out, one day.

Having one close confidant was enough. Potter had Malfoy. Newt, hopefully, had Percival. But both Potter and Newt needed friends who understood without being told, and who wouldn't ask questions.

"I like Potter," Newt said simply, sleepily. When Theseus glanced over, Newt's eyes were heavy-lidded, and his breathing was already evening out.

Percival came into the sitting room fifteen minutes later, hair wet and fresh from a shower. He took one fond look -- at Newt, barely noticing Theseus -- and said, to no one in particular, "I'll get him to bed."

"Yeah, yeah," Theseus groused. "Take him and his smelly feet away."

Manfred jumped up on the back of the sofa when Percival picked Newt up with far more care than Theseus would have bothered with, and a few minutes later they'd rounded the corner and headed up the stairs. Theseus listened to the receding footsteps, a small smile on his face, and he thanked his lucky stars, yet once again, that Percival had come into his life.

And Newt's, too, of course.

Theseus read a few more pages of his book before deciding that he'd had enough of studying metaphysical policies and Muggle equivalents. He wouldn't get much out of a manuscript that was about forty years too old and had been written on the tail-end of the First Great Wizarding War. He snapped the tome shut with a snap, dropped it in his growing pile of unfinished books, and did the rounds to secure the house. He had two Firewhiskeys poured off and on the table between two armchairs in front of the dying fire when Percival came down.

"Cheers," Percival said, taking a sip before groaning as he sat down.

Theseus grunted, then asked the question that had been niggling at him for a while. "So, how long have you actually been with Newt? Just out of curiosity."

"Pleading the Fifth," Percival said amiably, relaxing in the chair.

"This is Britain. There's no such thing."

"I'm American."

"We have an extradition agreement," Theseus said.

"My President likes me better than your Minister likes you," Percival said.

"My President likes me better than your Minister likes you," Theseus mimicked, upper-class accent and all. He rolled his eyes. "Fine. Keep your secrets. I know you're both keeping something from me and I'll figure out what it is."

"Okay," Percival said easily. He sipped his drink and looked thoughtful for a moment. "And when you do, let me know, because I'll have to remind you that you're still in trouble. Just because you distracted Newt with shiny new creatures doesn't mean he's forgotten what you did. Manipulating us for years? That's low, even for you."

"He's my brother," Theseus said with a shrug. "He'll forgive me."

"Eventually, yeah, but he's not the only one you need to worry about," Percival said. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, tumbler glass held loosely in his hands. He didn't speak again until Theseus' raised eyebrow at the threat began to ache. Very softly -- softly enough that Theseus knew he was in a world of trouble -- Percival said, " _You_ wrote to me. _You_ told me about it. I don't know all the details, not yet, but _you_ seem to have forgotten about Leta Lestrange."

Theseus sat up straight. "If you think I forgot about --"

"She deceived him. She manipulated him. She cut him off from you, his family, his friends, from everyone. She did… so much more than either of us can even guess at, and it's not like we haven't seen the worst that people can do, Theseus." Percival paused. "Did you know he flinches when you reach for him and he doesn't see it coming?"

Theseus' outrage deflated. He'd noticed, and had taught himself not to do that again, but he'd never wondered why. He'd assumed it had something to do with the creatures Newt worked with.

"He hides it, and I didn't notice the first few times. I thought it was strange, that someone who doesn't so much as blink when a rampaging erumpent appears out of nowhere and charges at him would pull away whenever someone offers a guiding hand to get him through a crowd."

Percival sounded very unhappy about it. Truth be told, Theseus was gutted to hear it. He hadn't thought about it in quite those terms. He bowed his head guiltily.

"Imagine what it was like for him when he figured out that you'd been manipulating both of us just to get us together. You couldn't have come right out to tell us you were fixing us up instead? Maybe arranged a marriage? Wouldn't that have been easier? Less… _scarring_?"

Theseus winced.

Percival tossed back the rest of his Firewhiskey. "Newt's your brother. He'll forgive you. But I won't, because he nearly _left me_ , you damned thick-headed asshole."

"Oh, shite," Theseus said, sinking into his chair and wishing it could swallow him whole. He was a fucking idiot. He couldn't argue against it. He should have realized that his innocent under-the-radar matchmaking would have brought back unpleasant memories for Newt.

"We're leaving Sunday after dinner. You've got that long to get a good start on making it up to him. I suggest starting with an apology, an explanation, and the permanent liberation of a few books on prehistoric creatures from the Department of Mysteries that Granger refused to let him look at until she finished reading them."

Theseus idly wondered whether he could borrow Stewart, Dougal, and Frank. Getting into the Department of Mysteries unseen wasn't going to be easy. Getting out of the Department of Mysteries with some of their precious books without triggering a trap was like trying to get the slimy, jellyfish-like Sallope to stop dripping out of a cardboard box. But he'd do it, because Percival was right. He had a lot to make up for.

"You don't ask for much, do you?"

" _Newt_ doesn't ask for much." Percival put his glass down on the table and stood up to his full height. He wasn't much taller than Theseus, but he was broader and more heavily muscled; Theseus had seen Percival tear things with his bare hands that a cutting charm would have difficulties sawing through. He was intimidating, and that intimidation doubled up when he showed teeth when he smiled. Like now. "Me, on the other hand, I'm going to ask for a _lot_."

"Ugh," Theseus said.

Percival patted him on his shoulder and headed out of the sitting room.

"You know, I'm the one who's supposed to give you the shovel talk!" Theseus grumbled.

"Be grateful I haven't decided to cut you out of the wedding," Percival said from the corridor.

"Thank the Gods for small favours -- wait. Wedding. _Wedding?_ Are you getting married? Percival! PERCY!"


End file.
